953 

F855| 


-NRLF 


C 


>* 


A 


{Fl|rmpjs  in  l&tvBt 


by 


Kam^B  E.  3Frrrman. 


firrtor  of 
&t.  An&rrin'a  fHrmorial  (Cljurrti. 

f  imkrrB,  N.  f . 


yrtntfb  trQ 

■rrd-ParsonB  ^rtntUig  OHomtianQ. 

Xlbang,  N.  f. 

1904. 


CniiurtBllt  1304, 
3nmta  €.  Iftttmm. 


^'A^: 


Dedicated  to  those  women  who  minister  to  the 
needs  of  the  Chancel  in  St.  Andrew's  Memorial 
Church,  Yonkers,  N.  Y. 


iviifijy^a 


These  few  fragmentary  poems  and  hymns,  have 
their  chief  value  in  the  themes  that  inspired  them. 
Life  is  full  of  music  and  poetry,  and  for  every  dis- 
cord there  are  a  hundred  harmonies,  if  we  will  but 
bend  our  ear  to  hear  them.  If  we  are  in  tune  with 
the  Infinite,  we  must  catch  now  and  again  the 
music  of  the  spheres,  and  feel  the  pulsings  of  that 
Life  that  never  utters  itself,  except  in  tones  that 
vibrate  with  harmony. 


St.  Andrew's  Rectory, 

December,  1904. 


The  Higher  Life 7 

The  Boy  Divine 9 

The  Good  Shepherd 11 

Visions  and  Tasks 13 

The  Holy  City 14 

The  First  Easter  Morn 17 

The  Ascension 19 

Life's  Purpose 21 

A  Meditation 24 

Yet  There  Is  Room 28 

Sorrow's  Meaning 30 

An  Easter  Reverie 32 

Life's  Renewals 34 

Myrtle  Hill 36 

My  Boy 39 

Baptism  of  a  Child 40 

A  Christmas  Reverie 41 

A  Christmas  Burial 43 

Flowers  of  Service 45 

Hymns 47 

Christmas  Carol 49 

A  Christmas  Song 51 

Easter  Bells 53 

Aspiration 54 

Communion  Hymn 55 

Calvary 56 

Anniversary 57 

Devotion 58 

The  Church 59 

Fellowship 60 

Trinity  Hymn 61 


521;^  l^xfilirr  ttfr 


So  seek  for  music,  not  for  soul-less  sound. 
To  feel  the  pulsings  of  a  higher  life, 
To  bring  the  tuneful  harmonies  of  Heav'n 

Where   men    are   struggling    with   their   daily 
strife : 
Ah,  this  is  but  to  live  so  close  to  God 

That  ev'ry  breath  drinks  in  the  purer  air; 
To  body  forth  the  message  that  bespeaks 
Of  life  enfolded  in  the  Father's  care. 

If  we  are  tired  with  the  day's  hard  battle, 

And  feel  the  awful  dullness  that  doth  brood 
Where  clashing  discords  render  life  uneven, 

Then  let  us  seek  for  still  diviner  food. 
But  let  us  strive  not  for  our  selfish  using, 

Else  shall  we  fail  to  reach  that  bounteous  store ; 
For  he  who  lives  for  selfish  ends  must  wander 

Where  strife  and  discord  dwell  forevermore. 

God  gives  us  life,  not  for  the  mere  consuming 

Of  passions  that  lay  waste  the  better  self; 
Nor  yet  to  get  and  have  the  things  that  perish. 

To  gather  thus,  were  little  less  than  pelf. 
There  is  no  gold  that  selfish  use  doth  brighten, 

There  is  no  service  worthy  of  the  name. 
But  in  its  seeking  looks  to  things  of  others. 

Who  liveth  thus  will  reach  the  holier  fame. 


What  shall  we  for  His  highest  favor  barter? 

Can  gifts  of  men  compare  with  His  "  Well 
done?" 
Why,  life  is  but  the  fleeting  of  a  shadow, 

The  hour-glass  sands  are  very  swiftly  run. 
To  live  to-day  as  those  who  live  to-morrow. 

To  see  the  beckoning  hand  that  bids  us  on, 
And  then  to  rise  and  hasten  ever  forward 

Until  at  length  we  reach  our  latest  sun. 

The  golden  glow  that  comes  before  the  darkness 

Gives  promise  of  a  fairer  day  unborn ; 
The  evening  star  that  twinkles  in  the  twilight 

Is  like  some  prophet  of  a  newer  morn. 
No  deepening  shadows  greet  the  weary  pilgrim 

Whose   face   is   set   towards  the   brightening 
light; 
For  such  there  is  no  fear  about  to-morrow,  — 

It  dawns  resplendent  with  the  passing  night. 

November  8th,  1904. 


3N  the  Temple  court,  midst  the  doctors  great, 
With  their  scrolls  of  Prophet  and  Sage, 
With  His  face  aglow  with  a  light  divine, 
As  unfolding  the  page  with  its  deep  design, 
Stands  the  Boy  of  a  far-off  age. 

His  words  fall  fast  on  the  teachers'  ears 
As  He  plies  them  with  questions  each. 
And  the  straining  eyes  of  Rabbis  start 
As  they  feel  the  glow  of  His  deeper  thought. 
And  the  import  of  His  speech. 

The  Boy  of  Nazareth  deals  with  a  theme 

As  old  as  the  mountains  hoary, 
But  its  mystery  deep  and  its  truth  sublime 
Has  its  meaning  revealed  by  the  Master  of  Time, 

As  He  tells  the  wondrous  story. 

In  Herod's  Temple  there  stood  that  day, 

Unknown  to  people  or  priest, 
The  Christ  of  promise,  of  Prophecy's  page. 
The  Christ  foretold  by  some  distant  sage ; 

Of  its  worshippers.  He  was  least. 

But  there  dawned  on  His  vision,  divinely  clear, 

A  destiny  fraught  with  strife, 
A  destiny  linked  with  issues  vast. 
As  far  in  the  future  as  into  the  past 

He  beholds  the  ransomed  life. 


What  brooks  He  now  a  mother's  call, 

Or  a  father's  importunate  speech? 
He  is  bound  to  a  cause  so  great  and  high 
That  it  mounts  from  earth  to  a  starry  sky, 

That  only  a  God  may  reach. 

"  Wist  ye  not?     Wist  ye  not?    A  Father's  cause 

Has  challenged  my  deepest  desire: 
His  business  august  demands  His  Son, 
For  Heav'n  and  Earth  must  be  joined  in  one, 
To  unite  them  we  both  conspire." 

To  the  distant  shores  of  a  time  remote, 

'Till  Eternity's  day  is  born. 
As  a  Herald  of  Peace  and  of  light  sublime. 
We  hail  Him  as  ours  out  of  every  clime, 

While  we  eagerly  wait  the  morn. 


"After  three  days  they  found  Him  in  the  Temple,  sitting  in 
the  midst  of  the  doctors,  both  hearing  them  and  asking  them 
questions.  And  when  they  saw  Him,  they  were  amazed:  and 
His  mother  said  unto  Him,  Son,  why  hast  thou  thus  dealt  with 
us?  Behold,  thy  father  and  I  have  sought  thee  sorrowing.  And 
He  said  unto  them,  How  is  it  that  ye  sought  me?  Wist  ye  not 
that  I  must  be  about  my  Father's  business?  " 

St.  Luke  2:46,  48  and  49. 


10 


"lam  the  Good  Shepherd;   the  Good  Shepherd  giveth   His 
life  for  the  sheep." 


at 


TT  HE  gentle  Shepherd  with  staff  in  hand 
i^      Has  left  the  fold  for  the  wild : 
He  is  satisfied  not  with  the  ninety  and  nine, 
He  must  seek  His  wandering  child. 

The  night  is  drear  on  the  mountain  steep, 
The  winds  in  the  tree-tops  moan, 

And  the  thickets  abound  with  nettles  sharp. 
But  he  presses  on  for  His  own. 

The  voice  of  the  Shepherd  is  calling  now, 

It  is  calling  loud  and  clear : 
'*  I  am  coming,  my  wandering  child,  to  thee ; 

Be  brave,  dear  one,  I  am  near." 

No  lowering  night,  nor  dashing  storm 
Can  stay  the  Shepherd's  flight: 

He  will  find  the  lost  one  tho'  wandered  far; 
No  gloom  can  blind  His  sight. 

With  listening  ear  He  pauses  now 

To  catch  the  faintest  sigh; 
Though  sin  and  hell  may  clamor  loud 

He  will  hear  the  lost  one's  cry. 


11 


In  the  darkest  hour  when  faith  is  low, 

The  hour  before  the  morn. 
He  finds  His  child  by  sin  ensnared, 

Tired,  and  weak,  and  forlorn. 

The  Shepherd's  lip  no  censure  speaks, 
As  He  stoops  with  outstretched  hand, 

Only  to  break  the  bands  of  sin 
And  to  make  the  fallen  stand. 

'Tis  the  lesson  of  life  the  Shepherd  gives. 
To  a  world  that  is  cold  and  stern; 

A  lesson  of  love  and  forgiveness  true. 
And  one  that  we  all  must  learn. 

No  child  of  His  so  stained  with  sin. 
No  sheep  that  has  wandered  afar, 

But  can  find  the  fold  and  the  Shepherd,  too. 
When  love  will  the  gates  unbar. 


12 


I 


StBtnnfi  and  (HaBka 

"  While  Peter  thought  on  the  vision,  the  Spirit  said  unto  him, 
Behold,  three  men  seek  thee."     Acts  10:19. 

ALONE,  upon  the  housetop,  Peter  dreams; 
A  vision  fair  enthralls  his  wrapt  attention ; 
But  yonder  comes  a  band  of  simple  men, 

To  rouse  him  to  their  needs,  is  their  intention. 

This  zealot  Jew  no  race  of  men  embraces ; 

His  creed  is  stiff,  no  single  jot  relenting; 
But  lo,  —  Cornelius  calls  him  from  his  dream 

To  tell  the  story  of  his  deep  repenting. 

Arise  thou!   Peter,  go,  and  nothing  doubting; 

All  men  are  sons  of  mine,  thou  narrow  teacher. 
To  earth's  wide  bounds,  in  every  clime  and  place, 

I  hold  as  brethren  all,  earth's  every  creature. 

The  vision  and  the  dream  are  preparation 

For   life's    hard    tasks,    its    struggles   and    its 
sorrow. 
To-day  I  look  into  the  face  of  God ; 

This    gives   me    heart    to   do    life's   work    to- 
morrow. 


18 


k 


"  I,  John,  Saw  the  Holy  City." 

SN  the  glory  of  that  vision 
Seen  by  John  on  Patmos  Isle, 
While  the  veil  of  mystery  parted 

And  revealed  God's  heaven  awhile. 
Majesty  too  grand  and  awful 

Wrapt  his  thought  with  wonders  bright, 
As  the  great  Eternal  City 
Rose  in  glory  on  his  sight. 

'Twas  a  city  high  uplifted 

Standing  there  'twixt  sky  and  earth, 
While  its  walls  with  jewels  sparkled, 

Naught  was  there  to  speak  of  dearth ; 
Gates  of  pearl  and  streets  all  golden 

Flashed  beneath  a  burning  sun ; 
There  no  night  can  ever  lower. 

Days  their  course  can  never  run. 

Nothing  there  those  gates  may  enter, 

Guarded  by  a  shining  band. 
Saving  those  whose  Sovereign  holy 

Beckons  them  with  pierced  hand. 
'Tis  His  city  where  He  reigneth, 

Where  the  rule  of  life  is  love ; 
'Tis  the  haven  of  His  children 

Coming  down  from  God  above. 


14r 


In  its  streets  of  homes  resplendent, 

Where  reunions  come  at  length, 
Where  the  tired  pilgrim  halteth. 

Lives  again  in  glowing  strength, 
Life  flows  on  with  joy  unceasing ; 

Sorrow  banished,  flown  its  cares, 
Death  forevermore  is  exiled ; 

Sin  no  more  can  weave  its  snares. 

As  the  seer  on  Patmos  lingered. 

Came  an  agel  clothed  in  white ; 
With  a  golden  reed  he  measured 

City  walls,  and  took  their  height. 
And  the  length  and  breadth  were  equal. 

Nothing  marred  proportions  bold 
Of  that  city  high  exalted. 

With  its  streets  of  purest  gold. 

Lacked  there  yet  one  thing  he  sought  for, 

Penetrating  vistas  long, 
'Twas  the  temple  dome  of  beauty 

Strengthened  by  its  buttress  strong. 
There  he  saw  no  glistening  marble 

Decked  with  gold,  or  towers  high, 
Lifting  up  their  snowy  summits. 

Kissing  now  the  evening  sky. 


16 


Thus  with  stylus  he  inscribeth 

On  the  page  of  sacred  lore : 
"  There  I  saw  no  temple  standing  — 

Love  is  there  forevermore." 
Over  all  the  city  reigneth 

Peace  and  righteousness  supreme ; 
Every  lip  one  story  telleth : 

Christ,  the  Lamb,  —  the  one  grand  theme. 


16 


Slif  3Ftrat  lEaatrr  fflorn 

AT  early  morn,  on  the  first  Easter  day, 
While  the  world  slept  on  in  its  dull  decay, 
Came  the  two  Marys,  with  spices  and  balm, 
To  anoint  their  Lord  in  the  morning  calm. 

As  they  hurried  along  they  softly  said. 
Thinking  the  while  of  their  sacred  dead, 
"  What  of  the  stone  which  the  watchers  bold 
Against  the  mouth  of  the  tomb  have  rolled?  " 

No  one  may  enter  the  rock-hewn  grave. 

For  a  Roman  guard  is  there  to  save 

From  the  hands  of  those  who  would  bear  Him 

away. 
The  Lord  whom  they  slew  on  that  awful  day. 

Nearer  they  drew  to  the  garden's  shade. 

Where  He  whom  they  loved  had  been  tenderly 

laid ; 
When  lo,  they  were  stricken  with  fear  and  fright 
By  an  angel  guard  all  clothed  in  white. 

"  What  seek  ye  here?  "  the  angels  said; 
'•  Why  seek  ye  the  living  among  the  dead? 
For  He  is  not  here,  but  has  gone  away 
To  the  realms  of  light  and  perpetual  day." 


17 


Mary,  the  Magdalene,  bolder  than  other. 
Even  than  she  whom  He  called  His  mother, 
Lingered  awhile,  though  she  wept  and  prayed, 
To  learn  from  the  angel  where  else  He  was  laid. 

Not  to  her  sore  and  wondering  vision 
Came  the  bright  light  of  her  Savior  risen. 
Not  till  His  lips  had  said  "  Mary,"  —  then  faster 
Came  her  response  of  "  Rabboni  —  Master." 

"  Touch  me  not  yet,"  said  Christ  to  the  Mag- 
dalene ; 
"  Tell  my  disciples  I  go  on  before  them."     Then 
Out  from  her  vision  He  vanished  away 
On  the  early  morn  of  that  first  Easter  day. 

Written  March  26th,  1902,  for  St.  Andrew's  Sunday  School. 


18 


JThr  Asrrnstnn 

SN  silent  majesty  He  trod, 
This  matchless  Man  —  this  Son  of  God. 
His  mission  here  has  reached  its  end; 
Above  Him  hosts  angelic  bend. 

The  worlds  of  light  fling  wide  their  gates ; 
His  sceptre  rules  eternal  States. 
The  victor's  crown  is  on  his  brow ; 
Angels  and  men  His  subjects  now. 

No  more  He  wears  the  robes  of  earth, 
No  longer  feels  its  pain  and  dearth; 
The  riches  of  His  Father's  throne 
He  claims  forever  as  His  own. 

And  while  the  listening  seraphs  bend 
To  catch  the  words  that  life  portend, 
He  lifts  His  pierced  hands  in  prayer, 
And  breathes  His  benediction  rare. 

"  My  peace  I  give,  O  Sons  of  earth. 
The  peace  that  passeth  human  worth ; 
Take  it  to  bounds  of  earth  unknown, 
And  bring  my  children  to  my  throne. 


19 


"  Go  forth  to  men,  make  known  my  love ; 
Tell  them  of  realms  of  light  above,  — 
Baptize,  and  bless  them  in  My  name ; 
Upon  all  Kingdoms  lay  My  claim. 

"  Lo  —  I  am  with  you  always."     Light 
Enfolded,  caught  Him  from  their  sight. 
The  Christ  of  men  rose  to  His  throne ; 
The  Christ  of  God  has  claimed  His  own. 

Ascensiontide,  1902. 


20 


w 


life's  Jurpofi? 

Note  —  Suggested  by  the  text:    "I  have  glorified  Thee  on 
the  earth,  I  have  finished  the  work  which  Thou  gavest  me  to  do." 

SHE  issues  of  our  life  and  thought 
We  measure  with  some  standard  poor ; 
Our  deeds  are  done  as  if  they  wrought 
But  for  the  space  of  time  —  no  more  — 
And  then  we  die. 

Each  day  of  life,  like  some  new  page 
Is  filled  with  much  of  commonplace ; 

No  royal  road  is  for  our  feet ; 

We  seem  too  weak  to  run  the  race  — 
Too  weak  to  try. 

All  life  that's  lived  for  self  is  weak ; 

The  man  that  strives  but  for  his  own 
Must  come  at  length  to  lose  the  prize, 

To  miss  the  goal,  to  fail  the  crown  — 
And  find  defeat. 

The  King  that  wields  the  sceptre  strong, 
The  soldier  with  his  blade  of  steel. 

The  peasant  at  his  simpler  tasks,  — 
All  these  shall  fail  at  last,  and  reel 
Before  the  grave. 


V 


21 


There  must  be  something  still  to  do 
To  make  this  life  more  splendid  yet, 

To  live  as  if  its  mission  here 

Were  to  do  good,  and  not  forget 
Its  purpose  true. 

What  if  it  be  the  common  lot 
Of  ours  to  tread  the  lower  vales. 

Nor  on  the  mountain  heights  to  walk, 
But  sing  until  the  daylight  pales. 
And  then  to  sleep? 

What  was  it  in  the  Nazarene 

That  made  His  life,  so  shortly  spun. 
The  miracle  of  life  'mongst  men. 
And  crowned  it  with  —  "  Well  done ! 
done ! " 
When  He  was  slain? 


Well 


"  The  work  thou  gavest  me  to  do 
Is  finished."    Thus  I  hear  Him  cry; 

And  then  upon  an  outstretched  cross, 
The  cruel  cross,  I  see  Him  die, 
But  not  to  fail. 

His  life  compared  with  other  men 

Who  wrote  their  names  against  the  sky 

Is  different  in  its  lasting  power ; 

While  theirs  are  gone.  His  cannot  die ;  - 
Too  mighty  'tis. 


2S 


His  life  was  lived  not  for  itself, 

But  for  the  world  thro'  which  He  moved 
*'  In  doing  good,"  the  writer  saith; 

In  doing  good  for  all  who  loved 
His  presence  most. 

'Tis  selfishness  that  dies,  not  love : 
'Tis  living  with  a  love  for  those 

For  whom  He  lived  and  died,  and  then 
For  whom  in  majesty  He  rose 
To  die  no  more. 

If  I  would  learn  life's  best  decree, 

And  stand  with  Him,  its  work  well  done, 

His  footsteps  ever  must  I  trace. 

And  bear  my  cross,  and  win  my  crown  — 
To  wear  for  aye. 


28 


The  following  lines  were  suggested  by  the  singularly  beautiful 
collect  for  the  4th  Sunday  after  Easter. 

"  O,  Almighty  God,  who  alone  canst  order  the  unruly  wills  and 
afEections  of  sinful  men :  Grant  unto  thy  people,  that  they  may 
love  the  thing  which  thou  commandest,  and  desire  that  which 
thou  dost  promise;  that  so,  among  the  sundry  and  manifold 
changes  of  the  world,  our  hearts  may  surely  there  be  fixed, 
where  true  joys  are  to  be  found;  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord. 
Amen." 

3    SAT  me  down  at  eventide 
In  the  quiet  of  my  home, 
And  I  asked  myself  the  question, 
"  What  of  the  years  to  come?  " 

I  was  eager  to  lift  the  veil  then 

That  hid  the  great  unknown. 
But  a  voice  within  me  answered, 

"  Thou  shalt  reap  as  thou  hast  sown." 

I  was  full  of  my  life's  ambition. 

Of  a  world  that  before  me  lay : 
I  had  hopes  of  a  larger  service. 

And  sighed  for  a  brighter  day. 

But  while  I  sat  thus  musing. 

Full  of  my  life's  forecast, 
I  beheld  in  the  mirror  of  memory 

My  life  as  it  was  in  the  past. 


24 


Over  my  vision  stealing 

Came  the  thoughts  of  my  yesterdays, 
And  I  saw  the  shadows  of  mis-spent  years 

Stalk  through  the  evening  maze. 

I  recalled  the  hopes  of  my  boyhood, 

The  dreams  of  my  fond  delight, 
Hopes  that  had  never  been  realized, 

Dreams  that  had  passed  in  the  night; 

The  faith  of  my  early  manhood, 

The  Christ  of  my  opening  life, 
How  my  thoughts  have  changed  in  these  later 
days, 

These  days  of  struggle  and  strife ; 

The  habits  so  sweet  and  sacred, 

When  I  trod  the  solemn  aisle 
By  the  side  of  my  sainted  mother. 

And  felt  the  peace  of  her  smile,  — 

Ah,  those  were  the  days  of  glory, 

When  the  sun  with  his  beams  of  gold 

Shed  about  my  life  a  lustre 

That  I  thought  could  ne'er  grow  old. 

But  the  spell  of  my  joy  was  broken. 
The  hand  that  I  clasped  was  still. 

And  I  felt  a  new  world  about  me,  — 
'Twas  a  world  that  was  dark  and  chill. 


26 


New  forces  now  came  into  being, 
New  passions  were  pressing  me  sore, 

And  I  turned  my  face  to  the  future, 
For  the  past  could  hold  me  no  more. 

The  world  with  its  gold  and  glitter, 
Life  with  its  quickening  speed. 

Was  like  some  mighty  vortex: 
To  be  great  was  my  only  heed. 

The  habits  I  used  to  practice, 
The  Sabbaths  I  loved  of  old,  — 

Why,  what  of  my  life's  desires  then  ? 
The  fires  have  now  grown  cold ; 

The  aisles  of  the  church  forgotten, 
Her  sacraments  richly  blest. 

These,  too,  I  have  left  behind  me. 
Behind  me  with  all  the  rest. 

Has  life  lost  all  its  meaning? 

Is  there  naught  in  the  world  can  hold 
The  love  of  my  better  manhood 

Besides  the  cankering  gold? 

Am  I  living  my  years  of  service 
To  catch  the  world's  applause? 

Is  there  nothing  higher  to  lead  me 
On  to  a  better  cause  ? 


26 


And  I  roused  me  from  my  stupor, 

I  rose  as  the  shadows  hung, 
Like  some  drapery  in  the  heavens, 

Where  the  stars  of  night  were  flung ; 

And  I  yearned  again  for  my  vision. 

My  vision  of  yesterday, 
And  I  cried  to  the  Christ  above  me 

That  He  would  with  me  stay. 

'Twas  the  same  old  story  I  longed  for, 
The  same  true  life  of  the  past. 

And  away  from  my  cares  and  troubles 
I  prayed  Him  to  hold  me  fast. 

The  world  with  its  tinsel  and  splendor 
I  would  yield  for  one  long  look 

Into  the  days  of  my  boyhood. 

With  its  sealed  and  forgotten  book. 

It  is  not  what  we  need  for  the  present. 
Nor  what  we  have  made  in  the  past, 

That  can  bring  us  the  joy  of  His  comfort 
And  the  peace  that  must  ever  last. 

I  have  found  in  my  evening  musing 

The  solvent  of  all  my  fears, 
And  like  a  baptism  of  penitence 

My  cheeks  are  bathed  with  my  tears. 

No  more  will  I  ask  the  question, 
"  What  of  the  years  to  come?  " 

For  when  the  last  curtain  falleth 
I  know  He  will  bring  me  home. 


.J 


27 


SHERE  is  room  in  the  church  for  men  of  all 
creeds, 
If  we  follow  the  Master's  life. 
We  haven't  the  time  to  be  splitting  of  hairs, 
And  we've  certainly  less  for  strife. 

The  church  that  is  bound  by  traditions  so  fast 

That  it  never  looks  over  its  wall, 
Nor  holds  fellowship  strong  with  all  classes  of 
men, 

Is  surely  not  Christ's  church  at  all. 

In  His  noble  conception  of  faith  among  men 

He  extended  its  boundaries  wide. 
So  inclusive  it  was  in  its  world-sweeping  scope 

That  no  mortal  should  e'er  be  denied. 

To  withhold  from  His  children  its  joy  and  its 
peace, 

To  limit  its  work  to  its  creeds, 
Is  to  part  with  its  Master  whose  teaching  it  was, 

To  make  it  conform  to  man's  needs. 

We  live  in  an  age  that  far  outstrips  the  past. 

With  Mercury  feet  we  have  run ; 
In  all  the  advance  that  is  witnessed  on  earth, 

Can  the  church  in  her  course  be  outdone? 


28 


While  we  love  her  traditions,  we  venerate  more 
Her  Exemplar  in  faith  and  in  deeds, 

For  all  classes,  all  peoples,  the  rich  and  the  poor. 
Is  the  cause  which  the  Saviour  still  pleads. 

To  interpret  His  spirit,  to  make  known  His  word, 

To  usher  in  peace  and  love, 
Until  this  old  world  with  its  struggle  and  strife 

Is  like  to  His  kingdom  above. 

In  her  charity  broad,  in  her  works  grand  and  true. 

Her  gates  stand  wide  open  for  all, 
"  There  is  room,  there  is  room,  let  them  come,  let 
them  come,"  — 

Are  the  words  of  His  welcoming  call. 


\\ 


29 


Bnrram^B  Mtmxn^ 


41    STAND  beneath  the  cloud  of  mystery, 
^--^      Enrapt  in  folds  of  ever  deepening  night, 
The  last  faint  trailing  star  of  promise  faded, 
I  grope  in  darkness  and  I  cry  for  light. 

No  answering  voice,  no  ray  of  hope  before  me, 
The  hand  now  pulseless  beckons  me  no  more ; 

"  Oh!  God,"  I  cry,  "  is  this  the  end  of  living? 
Can    nothing    soothe    this    heart   of    mine    so 
sore?" 

Oh !  speak  to  me,  one  word  of  comfort  utter ; 

Tell  me  that  life  unending  crowns  our  days ; 
Part  but  the  curtain  for  a  single  moment ; 

My  soul  in  anguish  on  Thy  promise  stays. 

The  cloud  is  lifting ;  lo !  I  see  the  morning ; 

Can  this  be  fancy?     Do  I  longer  dream? 
Across  the  shadows  of  my  gloom  now  stealing, 

The  rays  of  promise  on  my  vision  gleam. 

A    voice    now    speaks;     it    is    the    Master's, — 
hearken ! 

"  Behold,  once  dead,  I  live  for  evermore ; 
The  life  thou  lovest  now  is  in  my  keeping. 

Enjoys  my  heaven  with  all  its  endless  store. 


30 


"  Live  on,  nor  let  thy  faith  and  hope  e'er  falter; 

Live  as  becometh  one  whose  hope  secure 
Has  now  a  golden  link  that  binds  him  closer 

Unto  my  throne.     Fight  on!     Faint  not!     En- 
dure!" 

I  brush'd  away  the  tears  that  hid  my  vision ; 

I  knelt  in  prayer  beside  my  sacred  dead; 
No  longer  did  I  feel  the  hopeless  sorrow, 

Upon  my  fears  a  radiant  light  was  shed. 

After  the  night  there  came  the  glowing  sunlight. 
After  the  storm,  the  bow  of  promise  fair ; 

This  is  not  death,  'tis  life,  'tis  life  eternal; 
I  too  shall  live  and  love  forever  there. 

The  mystery  of  sorrow  hath  its  meaning; 

To  live  as  hopeless  is  not  meant  to  be. 
We  yield  our  loved  ones  unto  Thine  own  keeping, 

No  harm  can  touch  them,  they  are  safe  with 
Thee. 

Trinity,  1902. 


31 


An  Easter  S^wrte 

AT  the  sunset  when  the  day  is  paling, 
And  the  stars  are  twinkling  in  the  west, 
Saw  you  never  in  the  darkness  falling 
Something  that  foretold  the  coming  rest? 


As  the  last  faint  trailing  clouds  of  glory 
Cast  their  lingering  shadows  on  the  height, 

Thought  you  not  of  the  Eternal  City 

Over  which  there  were  no  clouds  of  night? 


When  the  lamps  of  God  above  were  swinging 
Through  their  orbits  bright,  a  fiery  train. 
Did  there  not  upon  your  vision  stealing 
Spring  the  majesty  of  His  eternal  fane? 

Of  a  temple,  lifted  up,  and  fairer 

Than  the  noblest  temple  made  with  hands, 
And  you  sighed  to  see  within  its  portals 

Where  the  King  of  Glory  ever  stands. 


I 


There  the  stars  of  light  will  fade  forever ; 

There  the  sun  no  need  to  shine  alway. 
For  within  His  mansions  there  will  ever 

Stand  the  burning  light  of  endless  day. 


32 


There  He  reigns  whose  human  Ufe  exalted 
Rose  above  the  thraldom  of  the  grave; 

As  He  lives,  so  we  shall  live  in  triumph, 
For  He  died  and  rose  again  to  save. 

From  a  grave  of  self,  and  sin,  and  sorrow. 
Must  you  rise  agam,  forever  free. 

And  beyond  to-morrow  and  to-morrow 
Sing  His  praise  through  all  eternity. 

Into  this  unfading  glory,  splendor, 

May  you  come  to  that  far  distant  shore, 

And  united  with  your  loved  and  lost  ones 
Dwell  with  Him  in  peace  for  evermore. 
Easter,  1902. 


k 


I 


88 


/|  I  HE  world  at  Christmas-tide  renews 
V^     The  fountain  of  its  youth ; 
And  feels  the  stirrings  of  the  Christ, 
Whose  wondrous  name  is  Truth. 

At  childhood's  shrine  the  dullest  pulse 
Is  quickened  with  new  power ; 

Old  age  forgets  its  halting  gait, 
Nor  heeds  the  passing  hour. 

To  Bethlehem  all  feet  are  bent, 

To  see  the  babe  new  born ; 
For  God  through  childhood  came  to  earth 

On  that  first  Christmas  morn. 

No  quest  of  Holy  Grail  was  e'er 
More  splendid  made  than  when 

The  sons  of  earth,  in  humble  faith, 
Turn  to  the  Christ  again. 

No  ancient  Rome  in  fairest  hour, 
Nor  Athens,  Queen  of  Greece, 

Outranks  Judea's  simple  Town 
Whose  fame  must  still  increase. 

No  system  that  the  world  holds  dear, 

No  moulder  of  its  thought, 
Compares  with  what  revealed  in  Him 

The  ancient  Magi  sought. 


34 


^^ 


The  fount  of  youth,  the  spring  of  age, 
We  seek  it  year  by  year; 

As  pilgrims  out  of  every  land, 
We  come  from  far  and  near. 

Beside  the  mother  and  her  child 
The  world  in  wonder  waits; 

Until  at  length  it  stands  renewed 
Before  the  heavenly  gates. 

November  30th,  1904. 


35 


?  Sill 


The  following  verses  were  suggested  by  a  long  and  well  con- 
structed line  of  earthworks,  stretching  for  a  mile  along  the  edge 
of  a  thick  pine  wood,  which  at  Fayetteville,  North  Carolina,  still 
witnesses  to  that  awful  period,  when  brother  fought  against 
brother  in  our  great  Civil  War.  The  Confederate  Army  antici- 
pated that  Sherman  on  his  march  to  the  sea  would  pass  over  this 
highway,  but  the  clever  master  of  this  great  host  of  footsore 
soldiers  deflected  his  line  of  march  from  the  main  road  just 
before  entering  Fayetteville,  thus  foiling  the  design  of  his 
enemies  and  frustrating  their  carefully  and  well-executed  plans. 

SOWN  amid  the  pines  and  laurels, 
Where  all  Nature's  hushed  and  still, 
Down  beside  the  Cape  Fear  River, 
Is  a  spot  called  Myrtle  Hill. 


Nature's  gifts,  so  rich  and  beauteous, 
Scattered  here  on  every  hand. 

Gentle  airs  so  soft  and  balmy 
Make  of  this  the  fairest  land. 


Rivulets  dance  their  wayward  dances, 
Cascades  leap  and  take  their  flight, 

Down  amid  the  ferns  and  grasses 

Wild  flowers  weave  their  patterns  bright. 


36 


On  the  hilltop  near  the  homestead, 
Once,  in  years  now  passed  away, 

Skirting  there  the  long  green  forests, 
Stood  an  army  clad  in  gray. 

Here  they  waited  long  and  boldly. 

While  they  threw  their  earthworks  high, 

Looking  for  a  mighty  army 
Ever  hastening  to  draw  nigh. 

Sherman,  with  his  tired  legions, 

Moving  onward  to  the  coast, 
Here  must  meet  a  worthy  foeman, 

Thought  this  well-embattled  host. 

Down  behind  their  long-drawn  earthworks 

Waited  they,  and  waited  still, 
Listening  for  the  signal  sounding 

On  the  hilltop,  loud  and  shrill. 

But  the  signal  never  sounded, 

And  their  waiting  was  in  vain. 
For  the  sturdy  Northern  chieftain 

Moved  in  silence  'cross  the  plain. 

Over  rivers,  bridgeless,  marched  he, 

Led  his  men  across  the  lea. 
Moving  ever  eastward,  onward, 

In  his  journey  to  the  sea. 


37 


While  a  Southern  army  waited, 
Waited  still  on  Robert  Lee, 

On  this  trailing  host  was  marching 
In  its  journey  to  the  sea. 

Not  from  over  yon  long  earthworks 
Came  a  shot  to  stay  his  course, 

Not  from  rifle-pit  or  hilltop 

Heard  was  there  the  cannon  hoarse. 

Here's  a  battlefield  that's  stainless ; 

Not  a  drop  of  human  blood 
Shed  was  there  upon  the  breastworks 

Where  the  men  in  gray  have  stood. 

Now  to-day  this  silent  witness, 
Like  some  record  strong  and  fast. 

Tells  again  its  hopeless  story 
Of  the  dead  and  buried  past. 

Once  again  the  wild  flowers  linger 
On  these  still  and  sullen  walls, 

And  across  from  North  to  Southland 
No  dread  war-cloud's  shadow  falls. 

Woven  like  the  grasses  yonder, 
In  a  compact  strong  and  true, 

Naught  again  can  ever  sever 
Men  in  gray  and  men  in  blue. 

Myrtle  Hill,  1902. 


88 


JCeRE  he  comes,  with  his  golden  hair, 
1^      My  little  blue-eyed  son ; 
He's  tired  now  with  the  day's  long  play ; 
His  hours  have  swiftly  run. 

Kneeling  beside  me,  with  soul  so  pure, 

He  lisps  his  evening  prayer; 
With  hands  clasped  tight  and  face  uplift 

He  seeks  the  Father's  care. 

His  life  is  like  an  urn  of  gold, 

With  incense  burning  pure ; 
No  prayer  of  priest  in  vestments  white 

E'er  reached  the  throne  more  sure. 

The  prayer  is  done,  with  arms  outstretched 

He  rises  for  his  kiss. 
And  for  an  instant  lingering  yet 

I  feel  the  spell  of  bliss. 

"  Good  night,  my  tired  little  man. 

May  angels  ever  be 
About  thy  life  in  all  its  ways 

When  I  am  far  from  thee." 

As  years  roll  on,  and  life  unfolds 

Its  sorrow  and  its  joy. 
May  He  whose  Son  once  trod  this  earth 

Protect  my  darling  boy. 


I 


90 


SHE  crystal  drops  describe  a  cross 
Upon  thy  forehead  fair, 
The  symbol  of  our  blessed  Lord,  — 
May  thou  His  favor  share. 

Named  for  thy  mother,  precious  child, 

God  give  thee   all  of  grace. 
Until  at  length,  thy  life  well  lived. 

Thou  see  Him  face  to  face. 

'Tis  Elinor  we  christen  thee, 

A  name  more  sweet  than  others ; 

No  fairer,  prouder  name,  I  ween. 
Because  it  was  tny  mother's. 

As  spotless  as  the  waters  clear, 
As  bright  as  sunbeam's  glow ; 

Across  the  hidden  path  of  years 
May  flowers  of  fragrance  grow. 


40 


A  KpurrtF  of  (£l|nBtmaa  Eti^ 

V||  HE  night  is  cold,  the  wintry  winds 
VS^      Are  blowing  harsh  and  shrill; 
The  snow,  a  mantle,  pure  and  white, 
Is  covering  vale  and  hill. 

The  embers  warm  reflect  their  light 
Upon  the  bright  hearth's  stone ; 

'Tis  Christmas  eve,  and  the  children  now 
Have  left  me  quite  alone. 

Their  stockings,  hung  by  the  mantleshelf. 

Cast  shadows  long  and  weird ; 
In  their  dreams  they  see  their  Santa  Claus, 

With  his  long  and  silvery  beard. 

They  hear  the  jingle  of  the  bells 

Of  the  reindeer  fleet  and  true ; 
A  smile  hghts  up  each  sleeping  face ; 

I  seem  to  hear  them,  too. 

Ah !  what  a  precious  dream  is  this, 

That  fills  their  souls  with  joy ; 
What  would  I  give  for  all  their  hopes 

So  free  from  the  world's  alloy ! 

These  visions  that  the  children  chare 

Are  the  truest  and  the  best ; 
No  dullness  wears  their  keen  delight; 

They  know  no  faltering  zest. 


i 


41 


Their  peaceful  sleep  no  storms  alarm, 
Though  winds  may  roar  and  roll ; 

They  only  hear  the  music  sweet, 
The  music  of  the  soul. 

The  childhood's  dream  is  better  far 

Than  the  visions  of  after  life ; 
For  theirs  is  freed  from  the  world's  alarm, 

While  mine  is  full  of  strife. 

'Tis  this,  I  think,  that  the  Master  meant, 
When  He  said  of  the  children  then : 

Except  like  them  ye  live  and  love 
Ye  shall  never  be  true  men. 

The  kingdom  of  heaven  is  like  unto  them ; 

Its  streets  of  resplendent  gold 
Are  pressed  by  the  feet  of  a  multitude 

Whose  love  has  ne'er  grown  cold. 

Good  Master,  the  Child  of  this  Season  bright. 

Come  into  my  life  anew, 
And  for  all  that  tells  of  a  care-worn  heart. 

Oh,  give  me  the  good  and  true. 


42 


A  (HlpiHtmaa  Burial 

SHE  world  all  about  us  was  bright  with  a 
season 
That  spake  once  again  of  the  Master's  birth, 
As  we  stood  by  a  grave  that  was  sacred  and  holy 
And  committed  our  loved  one,  —  "  earth  unto 
earth." 

'Twas  a  life  that  had  glowed  with  the  fulness  of 
being, 
That  had  lived  out  its  span,  yet  was  youthful 
and  bright ; 
As  the  sun  at  its  setting  reflects  back  its  glory, 
So  here  there  was  something  that  told  us  of 
light. 

The  cool  whispering  breezes  that  sighed  thro' 
the  woodland 
Seemed  singing  a  requiem,  tender  and  low; 
And  the  dead,  fallen  leaves  that  were  shorn  of 
their  beauty 
Still  told  of  a  Season  now  past  long  ago. 

No  birds  on  the  branches  were  twittering  their 
story. 
The  streams  bound  in  ice  had  no  message  to 
tell. 
And  yet  there  was  borne  to  the  soul  of  our  being 
The  whisper  of  peace,  —  "All  is  well;    All  it 
well." 


4S 


Mother  Earth  in  her  kindness  embosoms  him 
gently ; 
'Tis  the  lot  of  all  mortals  her  shelter  to  share ; 
Here  the  mantle   is  dropped   over  failure   and 
weakness, 
And  the  world  is  shut  out,  with  its  cold,  sullen 
stare. 

From  man  unto  God,  from  Earth  unto  Heaven, 
The  one  supreme  Master  is  Christ  and  His 
love. 
Our  mound  is  an  Altar ;  our  sacrifice  rendered. 
The  best  that  we  have :  —  take  it,  Lord,  from 
above. 


44 


3iximtrB  of  ^rrtrirr 

The  following  lines  were  suggested  by  an  incident  of  peculiir 
beauty  in  connection  with  the  passing  away  of  a  dear  friend. 
On  the  afternoon  of  her  death,  the  last  act  of  her  life  was  to 
gather  a  basket  of  flowers  for  an  expected  friend. 

Leaving  the  flowers  upon  the  lawn  in  the  basket  in  which  she 
had  gathered  them,  she  stepped  upon  the  porch  of  her  home  and 
within  a  few  moments  had  passed  into  the  land  of  perpetual 
summer. 

The  flowers  were  found  as  she  had  left  them  and  were  subse- 
quently placed  beside  her,  the  mule  token  of  her  loving  service. 

Tt]  IS  only  a  basket  of  flowers  sweet, 
^■^     True  messengers  these  of  love; 
Yet  their  fragrant  lips  a  story  keeps 
Of  one  who  loved  them,  but  tenderly  sleeps 
Where  the  flowers  blossom  above. 


She  plucked  these  blossoms  a  friend  to  greet. 

An  off 'ring  of  love  was  this; 
But  an  Angel  in  flight  for  a  moment  bent 
And  whispered  a  word  from  the  Master  sent  - 

'Twas  the  breath  of  an  Angel's  kiss. 

A  chalice  of  beauty  each  fragrant  flow'r, 

Filled  up  to  the  brim  with  love; 
For  each  bud  is  rich  with  her  latest  power: 
'Tis  touched  with  the  glow  of  her  sunset  hour 

Ere  the  summons  comes  from  above. 


45 


The  basket  of  flowers  still  idly  waits, 
And  the  blossoms  are  fading  there; 
But  their  mistress  lives  in  a  fairer  land, 
Where  the  children  of  God  shall  forever  stand 
And  the  heart  is  freed  from  all  care. 

The  flowers  of  service  beside  her  laid 

Are  whispering  words  of  peace. 
But  the  garland  we  twine  must  fade  away 
While  her  Master  weaves  one  that  lasts  for  aye, 

The  symbol  of  life's  release. 


46 


i^^mnfi 


i 


fBuBtr  for  ll|f  Cgmna  I^aB  hrrti  mrittrtt  b^ 

i^tanlru  iR.  Aurrii. 

®l?ainnaBlrr  nf  &l.  AiiftrrtDB  flrmorial  (Ehurrii 


If 


I 


A  QIlirtBtmaB  (Harnl 

SHIS  is  the  night  of  the  Savior's  birth. 
And  the  stars  are  twinkling  bright ; 
The  shepherds  with  wondering  eyes  behold 

The  angels  in  their  flight. 
The  sound  of  minstrelsy  is  heard, 

As  the  harpers  with  chorus  clear 
Strike  out  their  wondrous  melody, 
And  tell  that  the  Christ  is  here. 


t 


Refrain. 

Ring  on,  ring  on,  ye  Christmas  bells 
Till  the  light  of  morning  breaks, 

And  the  world  from  out  its  weariness 
To  a  newer  life  awakes. 


Peace  on  Earth,  good  will  to  men,  they  sing. 

And  strike  their  harps  of  gold ; 
And  the  shepherds  on  bended  knee  in  prayer 

Are  stirred  by  their  message  bold. 
The  waiting  Magi,  with  gifts  most  rare. 

Have  come  from  their  distant  land 
To  greet  the  Child  of  Mary  born 

In  the  place  where  the  oxen  stand. 


40 


'Tis  lowly,  this  home  of  the  Savior  dear ; 

No  regal  place  is  this ; 
But  a  light  divine  fills  all  the  room, 

The  light  of  a  holy  bliss. 
The  gold  and  the  frankincense  and  myrrh 

Are  the  symbols  of  worship  true ; 
But  the  aged  Magi  are  seeking  here 

The  fount  of  life  to  renew. 

So  the  world  to  Bethlehem  comes  again 

To  receive  from  the  Savior's  hand 
The  gift  of  life,  complete  and  full ;  — 

Behold  the  Christ  child  stand ! 
He  gives  to  the  world  its  highest  joy, 

Unbars  the  gates  of  gold, 
And  for  a  life  of  fleeting  years 

Gives  one  that  ne'er  grows  old. 

November  8th,  1904. 


50 


11 


®« 


A  (III)rtHtmaB  S>ntt5 

season  of  the  Christmas  Child, 
We  hail  thee  with  delight; 
The  star  that  shone  o'er  Bethlehem 

Is  mistress  of  the  night. 
The  waiting  shepherds  heard  the  song: 

"  Good  will  and  peace  on  earth;  " 
The  world  itself  was  hushed  and  still 
To  greet  the  Savior's  birth. 


Refrain. 
"  Good  will  and  peace,"  the  angels  sang, 

And  struck  their  harps  of  gold; 
The  Christ  of  Bethlehem  is  here. 

By  prophets  long  foretold. 

Across  the  plains  in  silence  deep 

There  moved  an  anxious  band ; 
The  star  that  shines  above  them  bright 

Is  like  a  beckoning  hand. 
These  wise  men  came  from  out  the  East, 

With  gifts  both  rich  and  rare; 
Before  the  manger,  bending  low. 

They  seek  His  love  to  share. 


51 


/' 


A  light  within  the  stable  bums, 

And  from  His  blessed  face 
A  peace  divine,  shed  over  all, 

Makes  radiant  the  place. 
The  gentle  Mary,  mother  sweet, 

Beholds  His  slumber  mild. 
While  Joseph  in  his  strong  embrace 

Enfolds  the  Holy  Child. 

Oh,  night  divine  with  holiness. 

The  world  is  waiting  still 
To  catch  the  beauty  of  that  Life 

And  do  His  sovereign  will. 
Before  His  humble  manger  bed 

We  bow  where  shepherds  trod ; 
Give  us  to  see  Him  face  to  face. 

The  blessed  Son  of  God. 


52 


'> 


^i 


(Ll}t  Eaatrr  Irlla 


SINGING  to-day  are  the  Easter  bells 
Their  message,  loud  and  clear; 
'Tis  a  message  of  hope  and  a  message  of  life, 

And  one  that  we  love  to  hear. 
The  Christmas  bells  have  a  music  sweet; 

They  tell  of  a  babe  new  born; 
But  the  Easter  bells  have  a  different  tone 
On  the  resurrection  morn. 

The  solemn  bells  on  Calvary's  height 

Fall  heavy  and  harsh  and  stern; 
But  three  short  days,  the  dirge  is  o'er; 

Their  lesson  the  world  must  learn. 
Ring  out,  sweet  bells  of  the  Easter  morn, 

Ring  out  your  message  true ; 
We  sing  the  song  of  our  risen  Lord ; 

'Tis  a  message  ever  new. 

All  hail !   Thou  risen  Son  of  God, 

On  this  glad  Easter  day; 
The  tomb  that  once  was  tenanted 

No  longer  holds  its  prey. 
A  Roman  guard  hath  lost  its  power. 

Is  startled  with  dismay, 
For  lo!  an  angel  band  in  white 

Hath  rolled  the  stone  away. 

Easter,  1904. 


63 


wrmimmia 


Afijitrattntt 

So  Thee,  my  Father  and  my  God, 
I  lift  my  voice  in  praise; 
Enthroned  in  power  and  majesty, 
Thou  compassest  my  days. 

When  morning  light  with  beams  of  gold 

Adorns  the  eastern  sky, 
I  see  Thee  in  the  radiant  sun, 

The  lamp  of  God  on  high. 

In  childhood's  morn  or  youth's  bright  noon. 

At  setting  sun  or  night, 
I  find  Thee  ever  at  my  side ; 

Thou  art  unfailing  light. 

No  issues  vast  or  sorrows  deep 
Can  hide  Thee  from  mine  eyes ; 

In  humblest  adoration.  Lord, 
I  rise  to  seize  the  prize. 

Oh,  let  me  be  like  unto  Thee, 

My  Savior  and  my  King; 
Exalt  and  bring  me  nearer  Thee  — 

Thy  praises  still  I  sing. 

When  life  is  o'er,  and  time  and  sense 

Have  spent  their  latest  day. 
In  Thee  my  soul  shall  find  its  all. 

With  Thee  I'll  live  for  aye. 


54 


(Emmtmmnn  l^gmn 

J II ITH  glad  and  grateful  heart,  O  God, 
-^L^LI      Thy  temple  courts  I  tread; 
From  things  that  rob  me  of  Thyself 
I  come  to  seek  Thy  bread. 

Oh,  feed  me  with  this  food  divine ; 

My  famished  soul  restore; 
The  consecrated  elements, 

I  love  them  more  and  more. 

Renew  the  springs  of  peace  and  joy; 

Give  power  to  live  the  life 
Of  Him  who  by  His  sacrifice 

Has  armed  us  for  the  strife. 

Before  Thy  Altar,  Son  of  God, 

With  contrite  heart  I  bow ; 
Increase  my  strength,  inflame  my  zeal, 

Accept  my  solemn  vow. 

Sorrento,  Me.,  August,  1904. 


56 


I 


QIaltiarg 

I'M  F  all  the  stories  the  world  holds  dear, 
Vil/      There  is  none  so  ineffably  sweet, 
As  that  of  the  cross  on  Calvary  drear, 
Where  sorrow  and  glory  meet. 


Refrain. 
Then  sing  of  His  love,  and  sing  of  His  might, 

Till  the  stars  of  heav'n  are  cold ; 
For  He  dwells  in  the  height  of  undying  light, 

With  His  crown  of  resplendent  gold. 

The  cross  of  Christ,  with  its  Kingly  Lord, 

Is  the  magnet  of  all  the  Earth : 
'Tis  the  boast  of  the  hero,  the  song  of  the  bard, 

And  its  value  of  priceless  worth. 

The  pilgrims  come  from  far  and  near 
To  hear  Him  speak  from  His  throne : 

"  It  is  finished,"  He  cries  in  accents  clear, 
And  the  world  responds,  "  Well  done." 

No  hero  of  earth  ever  died  so  brave 

As  the  Christ  on  Calvary's  tree ; 
For  He  lived  for  men  and  He  died  to  save, 
From  the  grave  to  make  men  free. 


66 


Amtitifraary 

ALLELUIA,  Alleluia,  praise  and  power  be 
unto  Thee; 
Alleluia,  Alleluia,  honor,  glory,  majesty. 
Throned  on  high  in  splendor  reigning, 
Men  and  powers  on  earth  ordaining, 
Father,  Son  and  Spirit,  Blessed  Trinity. 

Alleluia,  Alleluia,  angels  bow  before  Thy  face; 

Alleluia,    Alleluia,    low    before    the    Throne    of 
Grace ; 
Saints  and  martyrs,  spirits  bending, 
Sing  to  Thee  their  praise  unending; 

Great  and  endless  glory  fills  the  sacred  place. 

Alleluia,  Alleluia,  we  have  caught  the  triumph 
song ; 

Alleluia,  Alleluia,  with  the  ever-blessed  throng; 
Here  we  tell  of  grace  abounding, 
Grace  of  Him  whose  praise  resounding 

Makes  us  worthy,  true,  and  mighty  as  the  strong. 

Alleluia,  Alleluia,  arm  us  with  the  Spirit's  power; 
Alleluia,  Alleluia,  grant  to  us  the  blessed  dower; 

Here  we  pledge  our  best  endeavor. 

Guard  us  now  and  guard  us  ever. 
Leave  us  never  in  temptation's  awful  hour. 

Alleluia,  Alleluia,  Father,  Son  and  Spirit  blest; 
Alleluia,  Alleluia, answer  Thou  the  earnest  quest; 

Give  us  visions  of  Thy  glory. 

Speak  to  us  the  wondrous  story, 
Lead  us  on  our  way  until  we  win  our  rest. 


67 


SHE  choicest  spot  on  earth  is  where 
The  soul  communes  with  God  in  prayer ; 
Within  its  portals,  Lord,  we  bow 
And  make  anew  our  solemn  vow. 

Here  life  takes  on  its  new  desire, 
And  feels  the  consecrating  fire ; 
Ennobling  powers  within  me  spring 
To  greet  my  Master  and  my  King. 

Here  friendship's  quickening  powers  I  feel. 
And  hearts  are  linked  with  hoops  of  steel ; 
These  fellowships  are  bom  of  Thee, 
And  stand  through  all  eternity. 

God  of  my  life,  to  Thee  I  raise 

This  humble  prayer,  this  hymn  of  praise ; 

To  Thee  I  yield  my  life,  my  all, 

And  rise  obedient  at  Thy  call. 

Lord,  keep  me  through  this  troublous  life. 
And  save  me  from  its  storm  and  strife, 
Until  at  length  its  race  is  run  — 
Thy  gracious  lips  shall  say,  WELL  DONE. 


58 


^ 


Sl?e  (Eliurrlj 


TjT  HY  temple.  Lord,  I  love, 
^^      With  passionate  desire; 
It  is  the  place  where  altars  burn 
Their  sacrificial  fire. 

Here  at  this  sacred  shrine. 
We  meet  as  pilgrims  true; 

We  come  to  Thee,  O  God,  to  Thee 
Our  pledge  of  faith  renew. 

The  memories  here  are  rich 

With  choicest  friendships  blest; 

We  linger  still  to  sing  Thy  praise ; 
The  saints  have  won  their  rest. 

Thy  sweet  communion.  Lord, 
We  hold  with  chastened  hearts; 

We  seem  to  feel  within  its  power 
The  glory  it  imparts. 


a* 


A  PILGRIM  band,  we  journey  on  our  way, 
With  scars  that  tell  of  battles  we  have 
fought ; 
Our  hope  is  in  the  Everlasting  Arms, 

Our  peace  we  find  within  Thy  temple's  court. 

The  ills  of  life,  its  sorrows  and  its  care. 

Are  known  to  Thee,  Thou  God  of  love  and 
might ; 

We  are  but  children,  on  Thine  arm  we  lean ; 
We  are  but  children  crying  in  the  night. 

Here  at  Thine  altars,  Lord,  we  bend  in  prayer; 

To  Thee  we  lift  the  anthem  of  our  praise; 
What  homage  may  we  render  unto  Thee 

Whose  majesty  encompasseth  our  days? 

No  strength  of  ours  can  arm  us  for  the  fight ; 

On  Thee  alone  we  lean ;  Thine  arm  is  strong ; 
Attune  our  hearts  with  Thine,  O  God  of  Love, 

And  teach  our  lips  to  sing  the  triumph  song. 


eo 


^ 


Snnittr  l^gmtt 

iGoLY,  Holy.  Holy:   Father,  Spirit,  Son: 
^^      Trinity  of  persons,  ever  three  in  one. 
Glorious  manifesting  of  divinest  power. 
With  enlightened  vision  fill  this  sacred  hour. 

Holy,  Holy,  Holy :  In  the  days  of  old 
To  the  prophets'  vision  Thou  didst  then  unfold 
Messages  of  splendor,  messages  of  peace, 
Hintings  of  a  lifehood  that  should  never  cease. 

Holy,  Holy,  Holy:   Son  of  God  most  high: 
Thou  in  all  Thy  Manhood  taught  us  God  was 

nigh. 
Told  us  of  His  power,  told  us  of  His  might. 
Drew  aside  the  curtain,  ushered  in  the  light. 

Holy,  Holy,  Holy :   Pentecostal  Flame, 
Blessed  Holy  Spirit,  Godhead's  latest  name; 
Teacher,  Guide,  Inspirer:   lead  us  on  our  way. 
Out  of  death  and  darkness  into  realms  of  day. 

Holy,  Holy,  Holy:    Father,  Spirit,  Son: 
Trinity  of  persons,  ever  three  in  one. 
Glorious  manifesting  of  divinest  power. 
With  enlightened  vision  fill  this  sacred  hour. 


61 


^ 


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